Graduation

Various graduation pics.

Match the caption to the pic!! (This is an actual English activity we do with our students.)

The gym before the graduates arrived. Every student in the school is required to attend graduation.

Students holding diplomas. All are wearing rented kimonos.

Moemi, Natalie, and I. Moemi's holding up the box that contains her diploma. The diplomas are given out as scrolls.

Getting ready for a homeroom class picture (in Japan, all students are organized by homerooms and they remain with their homerooms throughout their high school careers)


Students at my school are scolded if they dye their hair during the school year. Graduation has traditionally been the day when students show off the hair they wished they had been allowed to sport over the past three years. No more school = no more school rules.

Natalie and I were invited to stand in on the classroom photo for a class that we frequently taught----3-K. One reason I love kimonos so much is because they are so colorful. If this were a picture of graduating high school students in America, it would be monotone due to all of the caps and gowns saturated with school color.

Some of the more popular dudes in the graduating class.

*Note*--- Most of the kimonos you see are rented.

Rental cost: $1,000 for one day!! Why do the girls rent? Because a new kimono set-up can cost up to $10,000. My school tried to ban kimonos a few years ago to protect parent bank accounts, but the girls wouldn't have it. Many girls wear dress suits because they can't afford to pay the astronomical rental fee.

Enkai Season

left: Start of the party

In March and early April, there are many enkais, or parties, thrown for teachers throughout Japan. English teachers at Someya have an enkai when teachers leave our English department for maternity leave, retirement, or a new school placement (teachers switch schools every seven years in Japan). My school throws school-wide enkai after right graduation to celebrate the end of the school year. There is another school-wide enkai for all the teachers leaving Someya in the coming year. In April, we have an enkai to welcome new teachers into the English office and celebrate the start of a new school year.

left: Raw and cooked fish--2 of the 10 courses.

Often the more intimate parties (like the smaller parties for our English department) are held at nice restaurants in traditional Japanese tatami rooms. The average cost is about 5,000 yen (about $45) per person for the night. This includes some sort of gourmet set meal and as much alcohol, tea, or sake as one can consume. The parties usually last 2.5--3 hours. In my department of 12 or 13 teachers, I'd say about 7 or 8 teachers drink alcohol at each party while only a few drink tea. Because there is a zero tolerance policy for drinking and driving in Japan--a single beer can land you a DWI--most teachers ride their bikes to the enkais or arrange to be picked up by their spouses.

The pictures below are from a farewell enkai we had last night. Two English teachers, one Spanish teacher, and one Korean teacher are leaving our department.

At the start of the enkai, at about 5:30 p.m., each teacher gave a short speech before we had a toast. One of the teachers apologized profusely for crying and bowed 4 or 5 times while muttering, "I'm sorry. Excuse me. Excuse me," after her speech. I couldn't help but imitate the other teachers sitting around me and stare down at the table during her speech. She felt ashamed for showing emotion. We felt ashamed for witnessing it.

Each teacher was given "Goodbye Money" in an envelope. I have no idea where this money comes from or what it is meant to be used for. I've heard it's about $200 worth of yen.

left: My pregnant supervisor (who also will be leaving Someya at the end of the year for maternity leave) making the rounds and pouring drinks.

During the party, the alcohol drinkers are given very small glasses (they hold about three shots worth of liquid). Throughout the night, teachers pour each other beer when they notice the slightest decrease of beer in one's glass. This constant pouring and the use of small glasses prohibits one from ever truly knowing how much alcohol one has consumed. This distances drinkers a bit from any responsibility they might normally claim over their drunken behavior (like when one married teacher last night kept telling another married teacher that she was beautiful and "cutie"----Because he had no idea how much alcohol he consumed and because he got drunk at the hand of others, he can paint himself as the victim in the situation were it ever to come up afterwards at school. The female teacher just blushed, smiled, and looked down at her plate during the whole ordeal--like it's happened before.)
left: Spanish teacher Jose and my co-worker Natalie












left: Natalie, Jose, me.










left: In true Japanese fashion, no party is over until there is some closing action/saying. In this case, a picture followed a single group clap (after the clap, the party is "officially" over).

I spoke to another teacher about these types of social cues. He explained that Japanese people need meaningless words and actions in their lives to help guide their actions in social situations. He said that, for example, when he says, "Itadekimasu" (literally "Now I will eat") before he eats with friends, he never thinks about the meaning. He says it, as does everyone else at the table, so that they can be sure that they're about to eat at the right time. Without words like this, a group clap at the end of a party, a farewell picture, he said that he would feel awkward and would fear embarassing himself at a party or a dinner. I said that in America, most people often start eating when the plate touches the table. He thought this was crazy. "What if you start before the right time?" he asked. "There is no 'right time' so I usually don't worry about it. I'll wait until everyone has food, but after that, it's time to eat!" "Strange," he said.

left: Nagashima-sensei, Akai-sensei, myself, Natalie, Koyama-sensei. All three of these Japanese teachers will leave Someya in a few weeks.










left: Nagashima-sensei and I. I'm sad to see her leaving as she is one of the teachers in our department who is truly progressive in her approach to teaching. She's a good listener and she is always, always, always trying to make herself a better teacher.

One of those people who is inspiring to be around simply because she managed to snag the job that her brain, personality, and spirit are best suited for.



left: The coolest soba shop west of the Mississip.

After the enkai, usually one teacher in our office will propose a nijikai, or second round. This second round usually involves going to a local soba, or wheat noodle, shop and more eating and drinking. I've been to the soba shop pictured at left many times and it is everything every foreigner ever dreams of when he/she thinks of Japan---it's quaint, family-run, the waitresses wear yukata (light kimono) and you have to take your shoes off to sit down. The soba is made in the shop and the decor hasn't changed in decades.
left: Our little room in the soba shop













left: Jose with a box of soba in the foreground

















left: The bathroom of the soba shop. A smoke and a piss, anyone?
















left: The onigiri bar

Last night, after the nijikai, the same teacher who proposed we have a second round also proposed that we have a sanjikai, or third round. I reluctantly tagged along (our group seemed to thin out with each additional round) and four of us walked a few blocks to an onigiri bar. Onigiri is one of the greatest Japanese foods---it's simple, tasty, and pretty cheap (picture below). This bar, one I had never been to, was even more quaint than the impossibly-quaint soba shop. Its owner, a strong yet delicate woman in either her 50's or 80's (I can never tell with Japanese people sometimes) greeted us with a deep bow and a wide grin. She explained that she has owned the shop for over 40 years and that her best years were during the Japanese economic bubble of the 1980's. She said that every night of the week during the bubble her bar was packed with businessmen running up bloated bar tabs. When we went last night, there was one other customer in the joint. She made us a few types of onigiri and gave us beer and fried tofu. When I asked for some soy sauce for the onigiri, she laughed and refused to give it to me because she said her onigiri never need soy sauce!

left: The owner / chef making onigiri













left: Five types of onigiri---each one is rice wrapped in seaweed. On top are things like salmon meat, salmon eggs, cod eggs, chives, or fish flakes. I traded away my egg onigiri--can't stand the fish egg stuff.

At 11:30 p.m., after fending off drunkenness and its parasitic hangover by eating unspeakable amounts of Japanese food for hours, I rode / waddled my bike 2 km. up the large hill that leads from downtown to my apartment.

Handshake, Hand Job, Mouth Job, Blow Job---Dr. Seuss Visits Japan

I tutor a group of men in their late 30's once a week. Last week, however, I was the one who received the lesson.

When I arrived for the lesson, I pulled back the clear plastic sheeting that hangs over the entrance to the garage, entered, and bowed. I took a seat on my plastic white lawn chair in the small arc of chairs around the kerosene heater. I said my hellos.

To my left sat a man who once pursued a professional boxing career as a middleweight, a man with glasses, strong teeth, and a cockiness born not only from his size but his decent command of the English language in a country that idolizes everything English. To my right sat a jovial, bespectacled, family man with eyes that disappear into his smiles and a modesty that reigns over his wardrobe, his questions in class, and his gentle handshakes. Across from me, slouched back in his chair, sat a man who actually enjoys winter surfing, a man who speaks while sporting a perpetual grin on his face like The Joker from Batman.

We started our small talk--How was your week? Any plans for the weekend? We usually chat for 30--40 minutes before making our way upstairs to start the "formal" lesson. Often, the conversation pings from us like pin balls from the flippers and time flies. This night was no different.

Before what I swore was no more than an instant, the ex-boxer was talking about love hotels, the fascinating, neon-pulsing establishments that let Japanese couples escape their domestic digs for an hour (or a full night) of lusty lovey-dovey. Usually, these hotels have mirrored walls, vibrating beds, TVs with a single channel that always moans, and enough prophylactics and lubricants to allow a baby calf to re-enter its mother's mommy cave should he choose to hide from a veal farmer.

"I love love hotels," he declared.

I love the way that sentence sounds, I thought.

"Why do you like them so much?" I asked.

"They are cheap!! Ice and Cream off Rt. 18 only costs 5,000 yen (about $45) for one room per night! Also, they are fun." He said this matter-of-factly and then unrolled a big grin. The winter surfer laughed. The ex-boxer leaned in closer to the heater and the rest of us. He continued.

"And, they are good for many girlfriends!" He leaned back, and, satisfied, he folded his arms across his chest like he just pulled a difficult block from a Jenga tower without collapse. I became more interested in the conversation--the air of relaxation in the room, around the heater, was now palpable and I could tell the men wanted to open up and talk, wanted spill beans that rarely, if ever, get to be spilled.

"Go on!" I urged. "You can't just say something like that and stop!"

"Well, I live with my family so I never have girlfriend to my house. But...even if I live alone, I still will go to love hotels! Because if I have a girlfriend to my house, I can only have one girlfriend. I don't like this. With a hotel, I can meet different girls when I want."

"Four? Five? Seven?" The winter surfer practiced his counting and contributed to the conversation at the same time--moments like this inspired him to keep coming to English class each week. The family man chuckled.

"Well, a few. Four now, I think. Sometimes, I change girlfriend. I like different types of girlfriend. For example, young girlfriend, old girlfriend, and sometimes married girlfriend!"

We all started howling.

I felt a little guilty laughing and I couldn't help but think of the husbands, out there somewhere, who kiss their wives and detect faint scents of another man, of this man sat before me, on the clothes of their spouses, on the headrests of their cars, on their pillow cases.

"Last year, for example, I had two girlfriend in Toyoshina. One girl was a high school student, 18-years-old, and one girl was a woman, 47-years-old."

At this point, my jaw was on the ground seeing as I teach high school students and couldn't possibly imagine any of my students peeling their little faces away from their textbooks long enough to utter a single "Konnichiwa" to the stocky ex-boxer. I also wondered if this man had just confessed to committing some sort of crime. Again, the man leaned in close to the heater and started speaking with a whisper as if the walls have ears.

"Oh, Andrew, I have a question. The 47-years-old woman, she used to meet me in a parking lot in Saku. She used to...uhhh...I don't know in English." He starts gesturing with his hand near his crotch. "She gives a...uhhh... handshake?"

We all laughed--I because I knew he made a mistake with his English, the other two men because he gestured with his hand near his crotch.

"No no no!! Not handshake! This is handshake!" We shook hands. "In English we call this," I imitated his gestures, "We call this a 'hand job'." Before I could finish digesting this thought--I am, at this moment, getting paid to teach the difference between a hand job and a handshake to three grown men sitting around a heater in a cold garage in Japan--the ex-boxer continued.

"And what do you call a mouth...a kind of mouthshake?" He gestured with his hand, opened his mouth like he was going to scream, and bobbed his head back and forth. The other two men erupted with laughter. "A mouth job?"

"Hahaha. No, not really. We call that a 'blow job' in English. 'Blow. Job'."

"Ah ha! Blow, like a wind blow? Ah ha! Blow job, hand job! Blow job, hand job." The two other men repeated after him and practiced their pronunciation like new converts learning from a proselytizing adult film star.